


Spring Come Again, Again

by james



Series: Seasons Change [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Humor, M/M, Potty-Level Humor, Pre-Slash, Which is Jaskier's Fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:00:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24463915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/pseuds/james
Summary: Geralt keeps letting Jaskier travel with him.  He doesn't know why. (He does.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Seasons Change [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767004
Comments: 14
Kudos: 147





	Spring Come Again, Again

It started in the rain. Well, one day in the very distant future when Geralt was being honest with himself, it started when he didn't tell the young bard to _go home_ and write his damn song, one adventure was enough. But he hadn't known what he was getting into then, he'd only been – Well. He'd been astonished by, and simply desperate for company that didn't hate or fear him. Jaskier had only ever been excited, happy – angry, sometimes, but always on _Geralt's_ behalf.

A stupid, dangerous thing to allow a human to accompany him, but each time he'd told himself it would be the last and he would stop this stupid indulgence. 

And each time they parted ways, sooner or later they crossed paths again. Geralt suspected Jaskier of tracking him down on purpose, but...it seemed pointless of accusing him of it. If he said anything, what would Jaskier say? Of course I'm tracking you down, you ridiculous Witcher? You're the one who heard where I was and decided to come find me?

There were a lot of conversations Geralt didn't want to have-- with anyone, but especially with Jaskier. Any sort of comment about how often they found themselves traveling together would lead to several discussions Geralt did not want to have.

But it was fine, he was coping, he...wasn't hating Jaskier's company at all. He couldn't say it was nice, exactly, because Jaskier was not just loud, but he was constantly making noise, always moving around in Geralt's periphery. The first day or two Geralt couldn't relax; his awareness of his surroundings was filled with Jaskier, masking the noises and scents anything approaching might have made.

Not that being snuck up on was really a problem. But Geralt was used to traveling alone, used to knowing of everything that was in the vicinity, habitually keeping track as he wandered through woods or towns or fields. Jaskier had a way of covering _everything_ up and Geralt had to rely on sight to determine what might or might not be out there.

When it rained, Geralt could relax. His instincts knew he wouldn't be able to hear or smell anything over the rain, so it didn't matter if Jaskier didn't stay quiet. Not that he could reasonably suggest they travel more when it rained – not without explaining, and again -- _conversations Geralt didn't want to have._

But it was always easier when it rained and Geralt appreciated how his muscles relaxed when the clouds rolled in and the first scent of rain hit the air. He took a good look around; he'd started eyeing possible places to weather out the approaching storm for the last hour or so, but hadn't found a spot good enough to call a halt. Soon enough it wouldn't matter, they'd have to stop anyway and make camp, as the nearest village was still a full day's walk away.

Geralt didn't mind making camp in the rain; he'd done it before and in worse weather. But Jaskier had stopped singing several minutes ago and started making worried comments about the clouds. And he knew from experience Jaskier wouldn't hesitate to complain for days if they were caught in a downpour without even a lean-to or windbreak of some kind.

Aha – Geralt saw a small area up ahead. Several yards away from the road there was a cluster of old trees with trunks big enough to shelter against. The wind was coming from the east, and there was a cleared section on the right side to shelter against it. Geralt nodded towards it.

“I can't see anything,” was Jaskier's immediate reply, and Geralt glanced down to see the look the bard gave him. “I'm not a Witcher riding on the back of a horse,” he continued, as though Geralt might have forgotten the disparity.

“There's a clearing up ahead where we can stop, be out of the rain” Geralt said. He wanted to say it should have been obvious what he'd meant. Any of his brothers would have known – though any of his brothers would have been able to see, and would have been on horseback besides. He glanced down again at Jaskier. “Eyesight must be going in your old age.”

He stifled a grin at Jaskier's exaggerated look of outrage, and pretended to ignore the blistering retorts that he was not old, nor blind, nor short don't give me that look you infuriating Witcher. 

“I'll have you know twenty-five is barely out of chil-- oh no wait, forget I said _that,_ ” Jaskier stammered. “Ignore that completely.”

Geralt huffed, once, all the laugh he was willing to give. “I will gladly ignore you,” he said and urged Roach to speed up, the slightest bit.

“Geralt!” came the expected outcry, and the sound of Jaskier's footsteps breaking into a run. It barely took a moment for Jaskier to catch back up, and he grabbed onto Geralt's leg and glared up at him. “You're evil, and I hope you know that all of my next round of songs about you are going to describe your sourpuss expression and the way you _snore._ I'll write a song about you defeating a monster through the ferocity of your pungent, malodorous farts.”

“I think those would be better written about Lambert,” Geralt told him. He'd mentioned his brothers, just once or twice, mostly in a cautious way of warning Jaskier not to go near them, without actually saying it like that because he knew it would only spark Jaskier's curiosity. But he'd told him a bit, mostly to try to encourage Jaskier to write songs about Witchers in general and not always specifically about _him._

Jaskier just glared at him, and Geralt could see him beginning to write lyrics in his head. As they got near enough to trees that Jaskier could see the clearing, Geralt heard him say, “No, it won't work. The only thing that rhymes with 'Lambert' is pampered, and that's not really the theme of the song I'm writing.”

Geralt knew he shouldn't ask, but, “What rhymes with Geralt?”

Jaskier's entire being instantly shone with mischievous glee, and Geralt immediately regretted asking. “Well, there's barrel, feral, imperiled – oh, a verse about Geralt fought a squirrel, oh, hang on, that's good,” he muttered, patting his pockets for the small notebook Geralt knew he kept stashed. It wasn't his regular notebook, which he kept safe wrapped in an oiled piece of leather and tucked away in his bag, but the small one he scratched out lines and phrases and notes in on the road. Jaskier spoke lines aloud as he wrote them down, as if Geralt wasn't right there, listening.

Geralt sighed. Even if Jaskier never actually sang such a song in public, it was just one more reason to keep the bard away from every other Witcher on the Continent. 'Geralt the Evil Squirrel Killer, Which Was Slain By The Power of His Farts' was exactly the sort of thing Eskel and Lambert would sing at him for the next hundred years if they ever heard it.

~ ~ ~

They made camp quickly and easily, despite the wind picking up. The trees made a good break; there was plenty of room for Roach to graze in a protected area while Geralt built a small fire near where they would put their bedrolls. Jaskier was gathering more wood before the rain started. Geralt wasn't going to bother hunting anything for their dinner; the rain would drive everything out of easy reach and they had plenty in their bags from that morning. Tomorrow, before they left, he might take a look around for something fresh for breakfast.

When Jaskier came back with an armful of dry branches, Geralt just nodded. Some he added to the fire, others were left piled nearby to feed throughout the evening. It was hard to tell how much the temperature might drop this early in Spring. With Igni, they didn't have to worry about lighting wet wood on fire, but the rain was just about to start and there was no need to go out to gather more and get soaked, themselves.

He could hear it beginning to hit the leaves above, and the wind picked up with a soft _whoosh_. Jaskier sat down abruptly beside him, rubbing his hands together. Geralt opened his mouth to ask if he needed a cloak or something to stay warm, but then Jaskier said, “The artists drew a great mural, to honor the slaying of the fearsome squirrel.” He laughed and pulled his notebook out, and Geralt scowled.

No, Jaskier could stay cold. 

~ ~ ~

It was still raining as dusk fell, though there was hardly much difference in the amount of light. The clouds had rolled in earlier, heavy and dark, and the rain had fallen at a steady downpour for hours. The trees were serving their purpose; they'd stayed dry enough and out of the worst of the wind.

When Jaskier said goodnight and laid down, Geralt eyed him for a moment, then sighed. He picked up his own bedroll and spread it out behind him.

“What--” Jaskier poked his head up, frowning. Geralt laid down, right behind him, and pulled his cloak over them both. After a moment Jaskier let out a huge groan. “Oh gods, Geralt, you're _warm_ why the fuck didn't you say so earlier.” He rolled in place and pressed his face into Geralt's neck and Geralt had to stop himself from protesting the extremely cold nose on his skin.

“I didn't realise you were that cold,” Geralt apologised. “You didn't say.”

“ _I_ didn't realise!” Jaskier proclaimed, and Geralt was grateful to notice that his voice was steady, not chattering with true cold. “Not until a living furnace laid down beside me! Geralt, we are never sleeping apart ever again after this – well, until summer, then if you get near me radiating this much heat I will stab you. Eh, I haven't got a knife; remind me to get one, so I can stab you if you get near me when it's ungodly hot.”

“Are you going to be quiet so we can sleep?” It wasn't as though they'd never made camp together before; Geralt had many, many nights' experience of how long it could take Jaskier to wind down. If he wasn't so exhausted he fell asleep the moment he closed his eyes – Geralt would never admit a preference, of course. But Jaskier could keep talking even as he fell asleep, if he wasn't completely dead on his feet.

“Mm, no,” Jaskier said, still wriggling and shoving his hands here and there, trying to get comfortable. Finally he put his fingers under Geralt's arm and Geralt yanked it back, reflexively. 

Jaskier titled his face up and pouted at him. “But you're _warm._ ”

Geralt sighed. As deeply as he could, drawing in a long breath just to make sure he sighed as long as hard as it was possible for him to do.

Gods, Jaskier's flair for being dramatic was rubbing off on him. 

But Jaskier was grinning, shoving his fingers under Geralt's arm, and sighing happily. He laid his head back down, frowned, then glared at Geralt's other arm.

“What.”

“Well, if you put your elbow here,” Jaskier nodded at the spot right below his cheek.

“I'm not--” Geralt cut his sentence off, because he'd been about to say, I'm not your whore to push and shove into the position you want. Because Jaskier did still look at him like that sometimes, and Geralt could smell the interest from time to time – though thankfully not nearly as often as when they'd first met, when a strong breeze would set the young man off.

But right now Jaskier just smelled happy and contented, so Geralt just sighed again and moved his arm forward a bit. They'd both be using it for a pillow, this way, and Geralt was glad he didn't have to worry about his arms getting stiff and sore overnight. However – however.

Jaskier was now tucked up under Geralt's chin, pressed as close as anyone had ever been. His entire body was relaxing, his breath coming on long, slow puffs against Geralt's chest.

“Don't kick,” Geralt warned him, but he didn't shift, now that Jaskier had fallen still.

“Don't fart,” Jaskier countered, sounding half-asleep.

Geralt clenched his jaw, because the lines of Jaskier's song were actually quite good, and funny, if they'd been about literally any person other than himself. Then he asked, “I'm facing away from you, how would you even know?”

Jaskier just giggled, and didn't answer.

Roach huffed, no doubt disapproving of the entire thing, and Geralt closed his eyes.


End file.
